The golden wrapper glinted in the dim light, and enticed a soft sob from Lorel’s chest. She weakly lifted her arm and closed her hand around the small treat.
A satisfied sigh sounded from the young man, happy that he had done a small favour for this poor woman trapped within this hell, one who so reminded him of his own beloved mother. He silently vowed once again that, lost or dead he would not stop volunteering for the supply runs until he found his little sister, and when he does, they can escape from the gang and start again in a new, safe home.
His sigh turned into a choking sob as he whispered into her ear the words that had prompted his need for some form of comfort on this day.
“I think I’m the only one left…I lost my brother today.” he sobbed, “First my sister, and now him. He died trying to save me, and now he is gone…he’s turned into one of them!”
Worn down from days of abuse, and lacking any feelings of sympathy, Lorel knew that she had to show some reaction and mechanically reached up to hold his hand and draw it into her chest.
“I don’t know if I can carry on…we are going out again to scout for supplies tomorrow, but, what if I see him? Just wandering around waiting to try and eat me? His own brother! He won’t even know me now, for fucks sake!”
Trying to calm himself down, his deeply drawn breaths made Lorel’s hair tickle her neck.
“There are so many of those damn things out there. We lose someone nearly every time we go out now. The blood, oh my God, so much blood! He could have made it too…I saw him fight two of them off, but he must have got some of their blood in his mouth or something,” he whispered, “just one drop was enough I guess. The next time I saw him, he was rolling on the ground screaming, shaking like he was having a fit. I…I think he looked right at me, but his eyes…” Choking back a sob, he carried on “His eyes were pure white, just like theirs! There wasn’t a mark on him, he looked like he could still be one of us. My big brother, I...I just don’t think I could put him down if I see him out there, I know they will make me, though.” Gulping his sobs back, he said, “that bastard Francie just stood there watching the fight too! He didn’t even try to help him…”
Lorel squeezed his hand.
Deep breaths were drawn behind her and the snorting back of snot from his emotional venting told her that he was trying hard to get himself back in control. “The sooner I can find my sister, or at least find out what happened to her, the sooner she and I can get going!”
After a few minutes, and more composed, the young man unfolded himself from her contours and stood up.
The immediate rush of cold air chilled her back after losing the shared body heat.
With regret shining in his eyes, he looked down at Lorel and said, “Stay strong. I will keep trying to get you out of here. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you right now.” He leant down and kissed the top of her head. “You know, you remind me so much of my mom. Same eyes, same colour hair”
Such an unexpected show of compassion jolted Lorel into a sitting position, and she reached out to grab onto the young man’s jacket as he went to put it on, wanting this small showing of concern to carry on. She missed and grabbed nothing but air, as the curtain swung shut behind him.
Lorel turned and carefully hid the gift she had been given under the corner of the mattress of her cot. Immediately changing her mind, she took it back out and unwrapped one end of the toffee.
She remembered this brand, the lovely golden adverts that used to repeat on the television with little attention paid to them by her at the time.
The sweet, sugary smell hit her nostrils and instantly caused her mouth to salivate. She licked the exposed corner of the confection and the sweetness on her tongue instantly giving a sugar rush to her anticipant brain. She lay back to savour the taste and the dopamine release relaxed her weary mind and body and she drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Shouting and knocking against her wall caused Lorel to waken with a start. Confused, she started to sit up as she heard a male voice from next door shout “For fucks sake Francie! Did you have to be so fuckin’ rough? I’m sick and tired of having to replace the girls just coz you can’t fucking get it up without slapping them around first!”
“It wasn’t me! Honest Pat, you gotta believe me!” The shouting turned into a stressed whine. “She was like that when I got here! Don’t tell the boss, Pat please, eh? Come on, yeah?”
A deep sigh and, “Right fine, but you are helping me get rid of her before she stinks the place up even worse than it already does!”
Lorel felt her heart break. The poor girl...or, was she the lucky one? Would it be her next?
Shuffling and bumping could be heard from the next room as her neighbour was removed. Her curtain caught as one of the men passed by and pulled back, showing the sad and sickening sight of the two men, one at the head and one carrying the girl’s feet pushed past.
The dead girl’s hand fell towards the ground and dragged on the floor; the three little hearts just visible as she made her last journey outside. The bleak sight made Lorel cry again. What little emotion left inside her poured out for the young girl and the harsh end to her short life.
Listening as the men carried the waif-like form away from the cells, she heard one of them say that maybe he should have one more go at her before she gets cold, and the other laughing, calling Francie a dirty old bastard.
She slumped back down. Time passed until more footsteps approached. A heavier tread on the boards this time. Fear coursed through Lorel’s small frame as the curtain swung back theatrically and there stood her captor.
“Heeere’s Johnny!!” A big grin on his dirty, unshaven face showed his grimy nicotine stained teeth. A ragged ugly scar ran down from his forehead over his left eye, leaving his eyeball just slightly off-set.
His entrance was worthy of a magician on stage, and she knew she was meant to be pleased by the honour of having this man, their beloved leader, visit her, but felt only repulsion knowing what was to come.
“Whore!! You will be pleased to know that I have just survived a shit load of zombie fuckers, so you can sleep safe in your bed tonight!”
The smell that wafted over to Lorel as she sat clutching her knees to her chest was abhorrent; stale sweat from a body not washed in many days, possibly weeks even, assaulted her, causing her to grimace.
Not pleased at this obvious lack of gratitude, the giant of a man strode over to the cot and swiftly backhanded her, snapping her head back to hit off the concrete wall behind her.
Lights bloomed behind Lorel’s eyes as instinctively she lifted her hands to the side of her reddening face and to the back of her head. Wiping at her stinging cheek she brought her hand down and tentatively touched her lip. Blood from her mouth smeared onto her hand.
Knowing worse was to come, she tried to smile, and a croaky “thank you” whispered from her lips.
“That’s better you ungrateful bitch! Old JC here,” he pointed both thumbs back at himself “works hard to make y’all safe and secure.”
Being the top dog and ranking way above the other men, who had to relinquish all of their weapons at the door, Jonathan had no worries that keeping his preferred weapon on him warranted any such caution, and he still had his knife attached with fresh blood from his recent battle glinting, as he slowly pulled the free slip of leather to unclasp his belt.
After all, he truly believed, these sluts, were lucky to be alive in this new, dangerous world. Lucky that they had a roof over their heads and food, as little as it was, in their bellies. It was reason enough to show their thanks to him and his men. It was only fair that they repay his kindness and show that they were far more interested in his other ‘weapon’ that he bestowed upon them instead. They were all easily replaceable now and were a handy commodity to command.
Lorel knew what was coming and fleetingly glanced at the knife as it dropped to the floor. Still covered in the blood of the undead, she momentarily thought that she could grab it and stick it
in the gut of this wretched excuse for a man, who, pre-apocalypse, was probably a charlatan toeing the line between normal nine-to-five and fantasy.
Her fleeting glance was spotted by him and the challenge was on.
He liked them with a bit of fight in them, and, laughing, he bent and unsheathed the knife. “Did you want this, princess?”
A stillness came over Lorel. This could be it, the end. With nothing left to live for she was calm and serene.
But this was not what he wanted to see. Fear, sobbing, pleading even anger was preferred; it made things so much more exciting. So he started waving the knife near her face, just millimetres from her cheek so she could smell the blood and gore detailing the recent history of the blade. Lorel squeezed her eyes shut.
Oh, this was much more fun, and the display of power was causing a hard-on to strain against the crotch of his denim jeans.
Holding the knife delicately, he started to move it down to Lorel’s breast, leaving a raised red welt in its track. His other hand was fighting to open the buttons of his fly.
Eventually free from its encumbrance his engorged penis flipped out, making its own theatrical entrance.
With glazed eyes he grabbed Lorel’s leg and pushed it to the side. With no preamble he entered her and started pumping like a piston.
The pain was intense.
Lorel snapped.
Her decision was made.
She grabbed at, and turned his wrist. His hand still firmly held the knife, and brought it up to her face.
Unaware of this action, he continued to thrust away, his face contorting in pleasure.
Lorel brought the knife to her lips, and, sticking out her tongue, she brought the blade to her mouth and licked the dirty edge.
The coppery taste was unmistakable; with an added sweetness from the tainted blood. She shuddered as she drew the taste down in to her mouth.
The effect was immediate. The virus ripped through Lorel’s body, she started shaking and involuntary gasps escaped her.
The man was so lost in the throes of passion that somewhere deep in his subconscious he noted that he must be doing something right to gauge such a reaction. Smiling he quickened his pace.
What he didn’t see in his lustful bliss was the new set of eyes covered with a milky white film, now focused, without any pain, loss, or suffering. He didn’t see the teeth bared as she approached his hot, rapidly pulsing jugular vein ready to rip into the sweet-tasting flesh.
- Epilogue -
She moved her knee, wincing as the small, sharp stone dropped onto the ground. Her right arm had gone to sleep from the lack of movement. But she stayed still. The view through the rifle’s scope showed the man enter into the building. She could only guess what was inside. Many men were entering and leaving, with much back slapping and high fiving going on, it was pretty obvious.
She was patient. She would wait. She had her target. She would kill him. He had killed her Pete.
Abigail Forrester, once the nations news reading darling, was not going to rest until she had her revenge.
- End -
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the writers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.
The characters portrayed in this book are purely fictitious and are not representative of any person living or dead.
2018
Biting Back (Book 1): Four Women of the Apocalypse Page 9
